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- Марк Мэнсон
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- Тонкое искусство пофигизма
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- Стр. 29/115
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When
my
parents
got
divorced
,
there
were
no
broken
dishes
,
no
slammed
doors
,
no
screaming
arguments
about
who
fucked
whom
.
Once
they
had
reassured
my
brother
and
me
that
it
wasn
’
t
our
fault
,
we
had
a
Q
&
A
session
—
yes
,
you
read
that
right
—
about
the
logistics
of
the
new
living
arrangements
.
Not
a
tear
was
shed
.
Not
a
voice
was
raised
.
The
closest
peek
my
brother
and
I
got
into
our
parents
’
unraveling
emotional
lives
was
hearing
,
“
Nobody
cheated
on
anybody
.
”
Oh
,
that
’
s
nice
.
It
was
a
tad
warm
in
the
room
,
but
really
,
everything
was
fine
.
My
parents
are
good
people
.
I
don
’
t
blame
them
for
any
of
this
(
not
anymore
,
at
least
)
.
And
I
love
them
very
much
.
They
have
their
own
stories
and
their
own
journeys
and
their
own
problems
,
just
as
all
parents
do
.
And
just
as
all
of
their
parents
do
,
and
so
on
.
And
like
all
parents
,
my
parents
,
with
the
best
of
intentions
,
imparted
some
of
their
problems
to
me
,
as
I
probably
will
to
my
kids
.
When
“
real
traumatic
shit
”
like
this
happens
in
our
lives
,
we
begin
to
unconsciously
feel
as
though
we
have
problems
that
we
’
re
incapable
of
ever
solving
.
And
this
assumed
inability
to
solve
our
problems
causes
us
to
feel
miserable
and
helpless
.
But
it
also
causes
something
else
to
happen
.
If
we
have
problems
that
are
unsolvable
,
our
unconscious
figures
that
we
’
re
either
uniquely
special
or
uniquely
defective
in
some
way
.
That
we
’
re
somehow
unlike
everyone
else
and
that
the
rules
must
be
different
for
us
.
Put
simply
:
we
become
entitled
.
The
pain
from
my
adolescence
led
me
down
a
road
of
entitlement
that
lasted
through
much
of
my
early
adulthood
.
Whereas
Jimmy
’
s
entitlement
played
out
in
the
business
world
,
where
he
pretended
to
be
a
huge
success
,
my
entitlement
played
out
in
my
relationships
,
particularly
with
women
.
My
trauma
had
revolved
around
intimacy
and
acceptance
,
so
I
felt
a
constant
need
to
overcompensate
,
to
prove
to
myself
that
I
was
loved
and
accepted
at
all
times
.
And
as
a
result
,
I
soon
took
to
chasing
women
the
same
way
a
cocaine
addict
takes
to
a
snowman
made
out
of
cocaine
:
I
made
sweet
love
to
it
,
and
then
promptly
suffocated
myself
in
it
.
I
became
a
player
—
an
immature
,
selfish
,
albeit
sometimes
charming
player
.
And
I
strung
up
a
long
series
of
superficial
and
unhealthy
relationships
for
the
better
part
of
a
decade
.
It
wasn
’
t
so
much
the
sex
I
craved
,
although
the
sex
was
fun
.
It
was
the
validation
.
I
was
wanted
;
I
was
loved
;
for
the
first
time
since
I
could
remember
,
I
was
worthy
.
My
craving
for
validation
quickly
fed
into
a
mental
habit
of
self
-
aggrandizing
and
overindulgence
.
I
felt
entitled
to
say
or
do
whatever
I
wanted
,
to
break
people
’
s
trust
,
to
ignore
people
’
s
feelings
,
and
then
justify
it
later
with
shitty
,
half
-
assed
apologies
.
While
this
period
certainly
had
its
moments
of
fun
and
excitement
,
and
I
met
some
wonderful
women
,
my
life
was
more
or
less
a
wreck
the
whole
time
.
I
was
often
unemployed
,
living
on
friends
’
couches
or
with
my
mom
,
drinking
way
more
than
I
should
have
been
,
alienating
a
number
of
friends
—
and
when
I
did
meet
a
woman
I
really
liked
,
my
self
-
absorption
quickly
torpedoed
everything
.
